


closer to fine

by casualbird



Series: closer to fine 'verse [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Acceptance, Coming Out, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nonbinary Character, Other, Slice of Life, Teenagers, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, and a little more than friendship, i am going to create a fanfiction that is so self-indulgent, like half of karasuno is trans deal with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27625877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: And they walk on like that, down the asphalt in the pale lamplight, and with every stilted step their spine unwinds. It’s a strange well-being, like finally shaking a cold. Like crumpling up a tissue they’ve cried into, leaving it in the bin.Five times Karasuno holds non-binary Asahi up, and the times that they don't need to.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu
Series: closer to fine 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126556
Comments: 33
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> posting this so i simply do not have an excuse not to finish it.

Telling Daichi is nowhere near as trying as telling themself. Which makes sense. Daichi is like a mug of green tea--warm, soothing without losing a certain acerbic strength. He sits close to them, after club in the empty lot behind the convenience store, and listens, and nods as if there aren’t little fires everywhere.

It goes a long way toward convincing Asahi that there aren’t. Not entirely, though. Never entirely.

Still.

He helps, in untautening their throat, in stilling the wobble of their voice over words that still feel so fetal, half-born no matter how many times they’ve practiced in the mirror.

 _I don’t think I’m a boy,_ is the gist of it, when Daichi sweeps away the leaf-litter of their stammering. _Or a girl._

_I think maybe I’m both. Or maybe something else._

“I-is that weird?” they wince, more than once.

Daichi says no, and--Asahi didn’t know what they were expecting. _Something terrible,_ their hindbrain always offers, _calamitous, sickening,_ but it was never going to be that. His captain’s voice, maybe, all affable command, brooking no argument despite the half-smile in it. It isn’t that, though.

It’s gentle, like warm stoneware against chilly fingers, with just the slightest rasp.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, and Asahi can’t handle it.

They knew they wouldn’t be able to get through this without crying. Glass-hearted, indeed. Nerves of wet crepe paper, bleeding out its dye.

He reaches for them, holds them firm and fast, with his soft shushing, his even pulse leading by example. They nuzzle into the safe plane of his shoulder, and he smells so like sweat and detergent and it’s strange, strange how much it calms them.

Because it’s Daichi. Because he’s not going anywhere. Because he was always going to be the right person, the _first _person to tell.__

__The wide flat of Daichi’s palm rubs circles on their back, through the sweat-stained cling of their shirt. Slowing, steadying, riding out._ _

__Inexorable as the ebb of the tide, Asahi stills. Slackens in Daichi’s hold, sniffling._ _

__“Sorry I’m a mess,” they say, when they’ve gathered the fortitude to say anything at all._ _

__“You aren’t,” says Daichi. “You’re fine.”_ _

__And that’s all there is for a moment. A warm, solid, stalwart friend against them, the gentlest rocking back and forth._ _

__They’re almost ready to let go when Daichi draws back, laying that hand on the burl of their shoulder, meeting their watery eyes._ _

__“Do you hear me,” he asks, and there it is. The gravity. His lip curls a little, but he won’t cry._ _

__Asahi nods, because they do, because there’s no other way to respond to a tone like that. A face, a hand, a friend like that._ _

__“Good,” says Daichi. “Because you’re fine. There’s nothing wrong with you.”_ _

__Asahi wavers--it earns them a heavy sigh, a fond smile. “Not at all,” says Daichi._ _

__“And I’m your captain, and I’m your friend, and I’m the same as you, and that means it’s my responsibility to make sure you’re happy. To make sure you’re okay. And I will.”_ _

__They’re _certain_ they’re going to cry again, but it doesn’t come. They just ache, hollowed like a sea-cave, like erosion in overdrive._ _

___I’m the same as you._ Asahi knew, ever since first year. Since Daichi showed up to practice three weeks late, because it’d taken him that long to convince the principal he ought to be allowed on the boys’ team._ _

__It’s only half the reason why they chose to tell him first. Maybe even only a quarter. They don’t say so, but it feels like Daichi knows anyway._ _

__For a while all they do is sit, there on the ledge of that retaining wall. Daichi’s hand stays firm on their shoulder, steadying._ _

__Asahi breathes. The fires, still everywhere, seem so much smaller. Just little pinpoints, like distant streetlamps, like stars._ _

__Manageable, almost._ _

__They smile at him, weak and wan. He squeezes their shoulder, smiles back._ _

__There’s a strident something in his eyes, and it’s a second before Asahi places it as _pride.__ _

__“Anything you need,” he says. “Anything at all.”_ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's an instance of accidental misgendering in this chapter, in case that's uncomfortable for you. it's not mean-spirited at all, though--tanaka is just dumb

If they hadn’t just spiked the ball into the next geologic era, they’d’ve fumbled it with Tanaka’s all-fired shout--”YOU’RE THE _MAN,_ ASAHI!”

Which isn’t out of the ordinary, because Tanaka is a dropped pot of a person and Asahi is the family cat, jumping clean out of their fur in the next room. It happens. Nishinoya whoops, Asahi yelps, they carry on. Daichi chides, Suga mothers. Tsukishima says something acid, about either or both of them, like they’re a comedy duo that he’s weighed and found wanting.

This is all to say--it’s normal like a flubbed set, a serve that drives clear into the net. A little blip, to be laughed off.

Today, though, it feels like tripping, like a dropped cafeteria tray. It feels like getting caught in a lie, a sick-coiling ballast of lead.

Daichi heh- _hems,_ and it’d just be a little scolding thing, just the usual _tsk-tsk_ for Tanaka, if the corners of his mouth weren’t so soft. If his hand wasn’t twitching at his side, searching for a shoulder to steady.

It’s a question.

They don’t have an answer before Daichi’s shaking his head, telling them all to shrug it off, shift back into gear. With the way he smiles at them, private across the crowded gym, they know they don’t need to.

Still.

It’s something that needs to happen, like how a person needs a booster shot, like how they needed to sob in Daichi’s arms behind the Sakanoshita store. Like how they need to do something about this distraction, because it’s just like after underclassmen call them scary, like morning practice before exams, and there’s a little sea change in their strikes that rocks them off-tempo and makes Kageyama ornery.

They stay a few steps late, to get the lights and to tell Daichi they’re ready, or something like it. The way a newborn deer is ready, shaking up on knob-kneed legs.

The two of them catch up, Asahi’s hand still warm where Daichi clasped it in his two, swore to them that everything would be okay.

They roil inside, anyway.

In the end, though, it isn’t as bad as a booster shot. The chorus reflects a general pleased bemusement, the kind of muted awe that might come from seeing a service ace, a backflip, a bottle rocket. Tanaka insists, urgently, that Asahi is not, in fact, the man.

“You’re the… them?” he tries, and Nishinoya smacks him one, and for the first time in several weeks Asahi really feels like laughing.

“I got you,” Nishinoya says, and tugs down his collar to show the shoulder of his binder, all ratty and scribbled-on in neon magic marker. Asahi knows it’s there, of course, is always prodding him to be careful with the thing, but the display brightens both of them anyway.

And then Nishinoya winks, and Asahi feels something else entirely, with all the staggering force of Rolling Thunder.

And then Ennoshita’s clapping them softly on the shoulder, smiling with a hand-wringing warmth. He’s flanked by Narita and Kinoshita, who are saying things but Asahi just nods along, dazed, for all they’d like to really listen. They sound kind, anyway, if not stumbling a little on their words.

It takes a minute, just to breathe, just to find something like their bearings. Until they can take in what’s around them, can realize with gut-deep relief that they won’t be hearing it from the vinegar brigade. Even they know when they’re out of their depth. Kageyama shoves his hands in his pockets, with the wobbly pursed lips of someone who has just then had the quadratic formula explained to him. Tsukishima just adjusts his glasses, asks why he would care.

“He doesn’t mean that,” bleats Yamaguchi, but Tsukishima insists that he does.

“Well, then you could have said it nicer.” His freckled nose crinkles with an apologetic smile.

“Shut up,” Tsukishima mumbles, and Asahi is almost certain it means _yeah, yeah, you’re probably right._

Doesn’t get a chance to do anything about it, though, because then Suga is catching them up by the hand, ruffling their sweaty hair, all glimmering with pride.

And they walk on like that, down the asphalt in the pale lamplight, and with every stilted step their spine unwinds. The conversation turns, the usual upcoming practice games, snack foods, which teacher has a yardstick furthest up themself.

It feels normal.

It’s a strange well-being, like finally shaking a cold. Like crumpling up a tissue they’ve cried into, leaving it in the bin.

And just then, just for that half-hour, Asahi feels, for the first time in heaven knows how long, that most things will probably turn out okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the Not As Much Of An Asshole As You Could Have Been Award goes to.... TSUKKI!!!!!
> 
> for a while i wasn't sure how to feel about this chapter! i thought it seemed too dissonant from the first one to really be parts of the same fic, but i think i've worked out out. besides, this is supposed to be a slice of life, and we can't all be having emotional teen movie moments all the time, even if we're asahi.
> 
> let me know what you thought of this, and if you like, come hang out with me on [twitter (18+)!](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) i need more hq pals :^>
> 
> next chapter: you thought you've seen asahi simp for noya but you've seen nothing yet


	3. Chapter 3

They’re knackered, more so than they’ve been in recent memory, but Asahi simply doesn’t have any _noes_ for Hinata, for his Roman-candle eyes, for that smile of his like a puppy who’s just learned what _walk_ means.

So. There they are, with practice hours soaking well into the evening, marshaling the last of their strength to show him _the thing that’s all SWOOSH and SHAAA and then WHABAM!_

And they’re smiling, they’re really genuinely smiling along with Hinata’s stunned face, the hum of fluorescent light, the overclocked striving of muscle, because it feels like--

Because it _doesn’t_ feel like the past week, like the prevailing malinger of the last few months. Because Suga sets the ball up like he’s charmed it, little pixie that he is, and there’s nothing but the sting of it against their hand, the slamming sound when it bursts down on the corner of the court.

“So _coooooooooool!”_ marvels Hinata, and Nishinoya wolf-whistles, and Suga looks over to them like the smuggest mother cat, and they know what they’re doing and why they’re here and, crucially, what Hinata is going to say next.

And yes, they’ll show them again--but this is the last time, because their thighs burn bright as magnesium and if they keep it up they won’t be able to come down the steps in the morning, and--oh, that’s not what Hinata says at all.

“I have a question!” He bounces, rocks back on his heels.

Privately, Asahi preens to be _senpai,_ until Hinata spits his question out and they forget how to do anything other than stammer.

“So if it’s alright--you’re not a boy or a girl? How’s that work?”

Asahi flounders, wobbling on overtaxed knees. They wish, not for the first time, that they were Daichi. “Well, it’s, I--er...”

_Is it bad,_ they think, _that I haven’t got an answer? What does it mean, that I have no idea?_

Their fingers twitch. It’s a dreadful, grasping feeling, like thinking there’s going to be a step where there isn’t, like trying to define a word they’ve used every day of their life, something as innate as _why_ or _how_ or _and._

“Oh shit!” yelps Hinata, and bows, apologizes, and somehow that’s worse? And then it doesn’t matter anymore because an avenging angel swoops right out between them, hip-checking Hinata with deadly efficacy so he staggers just short of the netpole.

“Hey dumbass! You’re real cute, but if you keep pestering Asahi I’m going to Rolling Thunderize your kneecaps!”

Hinata quails, and so does Asahi, and somewhere in the background Suga is laughing like it’s New Year’s Eve.

To Asahi it’s no laughing matter at all. Not because Hinata was bothering them, really, and not because they haven’t grown more than used to horseplay, and in spite of the fact that this is all really rather silly.

It’s just.

The crux of it is that Nishinoya stands there with his chest out, hair feral, grin challenging. That it’s _for Asahi’s sake._

That he’s beautiful.

Asahi chokes, and Suga’s at their back in a moment, patting and snickering away. The grin he gives them is Cheshire, fey, riddled with knowing and it’s clear, so clear that it’s all he can do not to tease any further.

He doesn’t, anyway, and Asahi is thankful.

If they hadn’t just been spiking, Asahi is certain they’d be showing a blush, the kind that creeps to their hairline, the backs of their hands. It’s not the first time, not nearly the first time they’ve been that way for Nishinoya, who is the mongoose that takes down the cobra, who is little and streamlined and still somehow enormous.

Suga coaxes Asahi from their staring, guides them into a thin pretense of gathering up all the practice balls, tossing them back in the bin. He shakes his head, terribly fondly, because it’s so obvious that it’s only muscle memory for Asahi, that their mind is clear on the other side of the gym, listening in.

He makes people like Asahi sound like mavericks for great justice, and Hinata devours it, half-swooning, keyed up to the nth degree.

“Waiiiiiitaminute,” they hear, “doesn’t Everyone feel like that?”

_Oh,_ thinks Asahi, and doesn’t listen anymore.

Just watches the bombastic moves in Nishinoya’s shoulders, the way he talks with his hands, with his whole being. The way his hair musses--Asahi nearly drops an armful of balls, with the way their hands _need_ to go and tame it.

In the end, Suga does most of the work, but the pastel glee on his face tells Asahi that the experience was more than enough recompense. They wonder how long he’ll be able to hold out before ribbing them about it. Probably longer than usual, Suga knows it’s been a weird week. He’s good like that.

He takes his leave a little early, though, luring Hinata along with the promise of meat buns, nearly winking when he tells Nishinoya to lock up, hit the lights.

Asahi is brave enough to stay back for one moment, to stammer out a _thanks, you didn’t have to._

Nishinoya just laughs, a smirking, snorting thing. “‘Course,” he says.

“I’m Karasuno’s Guardian Deity, and I have got your _back.”_

Asahi knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hinata means well, but he's a little menace to society. also, where most people have a gender, he's just got another volleyball.
> 
> noya, on the other hand, is a king.
> 
> do let me know what you thought of this, and come chill with me on [twitter (18+)](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you like! i need more hq friends!
> 
> next time: the high school anime rooftop scene, plus takeda being delightful


	4. Chapter 4

Like snow chains on heavyweight tires, fear brackets Asahi’s spine and stays there, stiff-barbed, gripping. It’s a cold sluice in their veins, and it makes them distant, slows them always a half-step.

It’s a familiar feeling by now, and a counsel that Asahi is inclined to take under account.

Still. They won’t skip practice, not anymore.

Of course, they won’t acquit themself well at practice either, not with ice shards in their muscles, not looking over their shoulder on every third breath.

In the end, there’s nothing for it but to ask Daichi. This is a proven solution, and Asahi feels a little cowed at how long it takes them to think of it.

Still. They catch them one day at lunchtime, matched-set Daichi and Suga, and they retreat to the high-dry crow’s nest of the rooftop, and Asahi tells themself strictly that everything has a shot at coming out okay.

Only because it’s what Daichi would say. Only because there’s one hand on either of their shoulders, familiar, enfolding, safe.

The _what-if_ comes thickly from their lips, stilted, punctuated with _oh,_ with _I’m sorry to bother you._

_What if, because I’m the way I am, I can’t stay on the team?_

But then it’s out, and the two smiles they find are like a pair of soft socks, fresh from the dryer. Like a hug, a sweet kiss on the forehead. 

“Firstly, you’re never bothering us,” say the two of them, almost in unison. It’s harmonized, Suga’s silk to Daichi’s steel.

Asahi can’t help a tiny smile of their own.

There is a brief silence, during which they breathe for the first time in several days. And then, even better, it’s over.

“Hm,” says Daichi. “The way I see it, there’s a couple things you could do.”

“You could just not tell the school. As best as I can figure, what they don’t know can’t hurt them.”

Asahi’s mouth creaks open.

“Which is _not lying,”_ Daichi continues. “There’s never going to be a situation where you have to tell anyone.”

It rings false--but this is Daichi, so it must be a trick of Asahi’s ear. They swallow it, Suga’s kind smile the sugar that sends the medicine down.

“Or, you could tell Sensei, so you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” A fond sigh. “Takeda-sensei knows about me. Well, everyone does, since first year, but he’s been… good about it. And then he could help you with, say, if you wanted to be Azumane-san instead of Azumane-kun, I don’t think he’d stop until every teacher in the prefecture knew.”

It’s a sudden headrush, the revelation that Asahi could be _seen._ Broadly, out in the world… it’d never been a good thing before. Rumors always spiralled, whispers carried far beyond the distance their volume should allow. 

In light of recent revelations, really--it could get worse. Freakshow, six of one and half-dozen of the other. To be tiptoed around, regarded with armchair-curious suspicion.

But.

Their friends, at least, can see them for what they are. Are _happy to,_ boisterous, delighted to do right by them.

There is, Asahi thinks, an outside chance that the world could see them that way too. It falls on them like thin winter sunbeams through window-glass, that half-there warmth, and they know.

They know they can do this. That it might be miserable, yes, but if it is it’s only a handful of months until they graduate, until they’re a perfect unknown once again, and with Daichi and Suga at their side…

With _Nishinoya,_ they think, and it makes them brave.

“...hear you thinking,” they register--it’s Suga, leaning in all soft-eyed, like a cat whiskering the air.

“Sorry,” they say, sniffling as discreetly as they can.

“Ah-ah-ah! No sorry.”

As ever, Asahi’s only recourse is to apologize again, and their friends then have no choice but to chide them, and then the three all laugh because really, what else can they do?

A silence settles over them after that, like the seconds before a serve.

“I’ll do it,” they say, because there’s no turning back then, either, and before their next breath they’re caught up in Suga’s arms, clutching gleeful.

“That’s the spirit,” he croons, ruffling their hair until strands shuffle loose from their bun, “there you are!”

Daichi heh _-hems,_ if only so he can get a word in, can finagle his hand in to squeeze Asahi’s tight.

A kiss from Suga catches each of them on the temple, and they fall apart, breathing freer and freer. Asahi’s hand linger in their lap a moment, before twitching up to right their hair.

“We’ll come with you,” says Daichi, with all the ingrained certainty of two plus two. 

Asahi hadn’t even thought of it. They chewed their lip a little, but not without an eye-crinkling smile.

“Mhm,” Suga adds, brightly, “and if Sensei puts one toe out of line I swear I’ll tell Coach Ukai he’s in love with him!”

A laugh spills over Asahi like a split water balloon, a gleaming summery shock that sweeps away all else. 

“Do not,” says Daichi gravely, but he’s laughing too, cuffing his dear on the shoulder. Suga just grins, cherubically innocent.

“Of course I wouldn’t,” he says, and his voice is airy and light as pastry before it takes a sharp turn toward something darker. “I would do something much worse, if Sensei bothered our Asahi.”

 _Their_ Asahi. It wasn’t a revelation--they’d known and known and known, but… still.

It was nice, to be reminded. Heartening.

They go to find him, in the staff room after school. Takeda fiddles with the zipper on his track jacket, humming to himself, looking scarcely like someone to be frightened of.

Asahi breathes, and reminds themself that he _isn’t._

The lesson doesn’t stick, not really, but it’s helped by the cheer in Takeda’s voice as he greets them, as he calls them all by name and asks quite eagerly if there’s something he can do for them.

Their throat shakes, like someone’s strummed their vocal chords, and in the end it’s Daichi who says _yes,_ who guides them to a quiet dead-end hallway, who lays his hand on Asahi’s back when there’s nothing to do but speak.

For all the tremoring in Asahi’s voice, for the wet quaver in their eye, the sick streak of something like shame, they get it out.

Takeda looks _delighted._ Looks like a sparkler in summer, a live wire--he wrings his hands a little, a grin quirking his round cheeks.

“It was very brave of you to tell me, Azumane,” he says, “and I’m glad you did, because I can help with anything you need! I could call you something different, or get you a different uniform, I could help you talk to other teachers, and if anyone’s giving you trouble, I’ll--”

They hardly hear it. All they hear is _brave, brave,_ very _brave._

“--Sensei,” grinds Daichi, but he’s smiling, smiling. “They had a question.”

“Oh, sorry--of course!” He looks incredibly sheepish, but still can’t keep from grinning, saying _anything_ again.

It’s almost easy to say it, faced with someone like that. Sure, the words come out half-shaped, shaking, but they do, and they are fine, and Asahi is almost fine as well.

“W-will I be able to stay on the team?”

His face falls, if only for an instant. “Were you worried about that?” His lips purse, soft. Asahi nods, and from the corner of their eye can see their friends nodding as well.

“Well,” proclaims Takeda, having caught some second wind. “I’ve read the _entire_ student handbook, and you can rest assured that it doesn’t say anything to that effect. And even if it did, I’d--I’d do something about it!”

It seems close to obvious, that this is what he’d say. Asahi marvels at it anyway.

“You’re more than a valuable asset to the team, Azumane. I’m so happy to have you, and I will do anything in my power--and probably some things that aren’t--to make sure you can stay, I’ll promise you that.” He radiates purpose, and it’s all of a sudden that Asahi understands why people become teachers. 

Even that, though, is overcome with the _relief,_ like aloe on a sunburn, like all at once the soft routine of dinner, shower, bed.

They sag a little, listing back into their friends’ hands at just how right it feels.

Takeda smiles, birdlike, lashes waxing wet behind his lenses. “Coming out’s a scary thing,” he says, hushed. “I’ve had to do it enough times myself...”

This, on any other day, would have been a revelation. Asahi just nods, though, as if there was something inexorable and unmissable about him, as if they’d always known.

“...But I’m here to help you if there’s anything you need, and I can promise you, Azumane, that you’re going to be just fine, if you and your friends and I have anything to do with it!”

There’s nothing for his sincerity but to believe him, and so Asahi does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! if you're the kind of person who was interested in this fic for its brevity, i am sorry! this chapter is like Twice as long as the first one and it was gonna be longer before i cut it off! and if this fic doesn't seem long enough to you, i guess i'm also sorry!
> 
> i've got one of those english degrees, and i was feeling kind of anxious about this fic because it doesn't really have Redeeming Literary Value. but then again, literature is for squares and there is value in wish fulfillment for young trans people, so i guess my stuffed shirt old professors can just go suck an egg!
> 
> do weigh in on this matter, if you have thoughts, and hang out with me on [twitter (18+)](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you like! i need more hq friends!!!
> 
> next time: shimizu kiyoko is a heroine
> 
> much love! have a good one!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to The Trans Kid Shopping Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a brief moment of dysphoria here, but it's over soon and the overarching tone is pretty hopeful. i hope this is ok!

Over the threshold of the supermarket bathroom could be nothing but light-years on light-years of space, and Asahi wouldn’t notice. They are untethered already, weightless, _shaking_ with the rush, the newness of it.

Their hands scrunch in the rib-knit hem of their sweater, fingertips catching their dove-grey skirtfront. They smooth it out again, and fix their hair in the graffitoed mirror, spilling in waves over their jaw, and--

\--And there’s no telling how long they’ve been in here already, shuffling and adjusting and _staring,_ beholding this new thing that they are, and it’s… It’s like being a moth.

Eventually, it’s time to leave the chrysalis.

It’s strange, how ready Asahi feels, even as their fingers quiver around the doorknob. Even as they picture the madding crowd that might be out there, that great morass of watching, watching…

_They’ll always look._ Asahi’s fingernails dig crescents in their palm. _They might as well see something true._

The linoleum doesn’t fall away as they step out. It holds, just like their knees do, their resolve.

Daichi is just as breathless as they are, when they meet his eye. For once, he’s lost for soapboxing, for anything but wide eyes and a smile that’s ferocious in its pride.

Shimizu just takes a deft step forward, picks a little fuzz off the cabling at Asahi’s shoulder. “There you go,” she says, and her soft voice betrays her joy, “now you’re perfect.”

Asahi has never been perfect, but here in the back of this supermarket, skirt swishing ‘round their stockinged knees--they could be.

They feel it, or something close enough.

The three wander for a while, out on the path around a little lake. The sound of quiet chatter, the birdsong and the feel of school shoes on asphalt wind like remembering threads around Asahi’s fingers, mooring them to terra firm.

“How does it feel?” asks Daichi, three times before Asahi hears him. There’s nothing to say to it, though, so they just twirl their hair around their index finger, walk along with new purpose in their stride.

Daichi understands, and so does Shimizu _\--Kiyoko,_ she insists. She tells of being thirteen, of her trip to the secondhand shop, when her mother had her lift her arms to take her first three sizes. Of the jay-blue sundress she bought, which she still wears on her days off.

There’s the same softness in Daichi’s voice, the way he talks about his first time in Karasuno’s uniform, the same exuberant, gentle thing that blooms in Asahi’s throat, like the new flutter of wet wings.

They smile to remember. They were there, that day in first year, and they’d watched the half-teared glimmer in Daichi’s eye, the stunned knock of rangy knees.

Do they look like that now, they wonder. That young?

They feel it, and it’s as bright as the autumn afternoon, as brisk, and for once Asahi has found a feeling they can bask in, and then--

\--And then the weight comes back in them, all at the behest of a liminal noise, a sudden tiny chill.

They look down at the run in their stockings, and heaven knows why but their eyes mist over.

“Oh no,” they say, too softly. “Ah--?”

Teeth needle at the inside of their cheek. Daichi turns to ask what’s wrong, and all they can do is motion to it, watch concern flicker on his face.

He must know, from the way he looks at them, that it feels like losing.

Their breath quickens, shifting shallow in the cold. The youth in them sours, becomes something too-small-to-reach, something that wants to go home.

Kiyoko’s face, though, is placid as ever as she glances over them, surveying the damage. It feels like something to hold onto, that she is so far from fazed.

When she motions them over to a park bench, they follow, swallowing the knot in their throat. Sit, with Daichi at their side, his broad hand over their shoulder.

“Give me five minutes,” says Kiyoko, with all of the conviction in the world. Her voice is gentle, yes, but with the tensile strength, the muted sheen of silk, and Asahi cannot help but marvel as she lopes away, quicksilver.

They wait. Daichi breathes, measured and level and slow, and Asahi follows.

Still, they think _awkward, gawky, knobbed and overlarge and_ never quite right.

They wonder, in the following hours, if they voiced any of it. Perhaps Daichi just understood anyway.

“Shake it off,” he says, gently. “You’re fine. I used to get runs in my tights all the time. It’s not a you problem.”

It feels like one, but then again Daichi is one of those people who’s just always right, regardless.

“I hate to break it to you,” he says, “but clothes made for women are just a joke. I bet that skirt doesn’t even have pockets.”

Asahi checks, harried. It doesn’t--just seams where pockets ought to be. They laugh, a little, though it’s a pale thing.

It’s then, when the world’s been picked up and dusted off, that Kiyoko comes back. At a run, still, with cheeks puffed out, sweat gleaming on her brow, but still bearing every last ounce of her grace--she looks like an antelope, like a creature made for this.

There’s a shopping bag swinging from her hand--she stops, and crinkles it open, and pulls out a tiny bottle of clear nail polish. 

Which is alright. Confusion is--better, than whatever they’d felt five minutes prior.

Kiyoko just uncaps the bottle, her moves steady, deft even though exertion makes her fingers shake. She loads the brush, a neat and practiced move, then leans in. Paints, gently, over the laddering tear in the fabric.

Her eyes are focused narrow and her hands are warm, her lips pursed. She’s finished quickly.

“There,” she says, and smiles in earnest. “Now it won’t get any worse.”

Asahi’s breath stops as they try to thank her. Kiyoko just smiles, caps the bottle, presses it firm into their hand.

They leave it in the pocket of their sweater, over their breast like a talisman.

“Tights run,” she says, and it echoes like a math fact, like how three and three make six. Just a precept of the world. “There’re all sorts of little tricks like that.”

“Feminine things,” she explains. “You and I… have to figure them out late. It’s a learning curve.”

Asahi nods, dazed by it all--how to get eyeliner on and off, they wonder, and what one needs in a purse, and so on and so forth, forever. It’s chilling the way a rollercoaster is, if Asahi liked rollercoasters. Mysterious, too fast, but still--there’s just something intrepid, something that won’t go home without knowing.

They must be smiling now, though it must be wan, a little sallow. A little shaky--it doesn’t matter, because Daichi’s hand clasps their shoulder. Because Kiyoko’s smiling back, eyes crinkling behind her glasses, because she reaches out her cold hand to lay on theirs. Just a fleeting thing, but it’s there and it feels like a deep, deep breath.

“Just like in second year,” she goes on, after a moment. “When you learned spike serves. You thought you’d never get it.”

She was right. Here they were, a year out, ace-accolades and all.

“But this time, I can teach you.”

“I--I’ll have to take you up on that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello! i hope you enjoyed!! i certainly had a blast plotting and writing this, even though like... at least half of it was just trying to imagine asahi's cute outfit...
> 
> what is the point of life, if not to dress up asahi? if not for kiyoko to be effortlessly cool? anyway, tell me what you thought of this, and come hang out with me on [twitter (18+)](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you like, i really would like more hq friends!!
> 
> next chapter: epilogue


	6. Chapter 6

Their friends are there, of course, on graduation day and every aimless dazed day after. And even after that, when Asahi gathers up their pieces, rearranges them to some semblance of what’s meant to come next.

They’re there, just up the road or down the phone, their hands in reach if ever they’re needed.

Even if they’re not needed, not really--but perhaps it’s times like those when one needs one’s friends most.

It steadies them out, watching all Karasuno’s matches, stepping out shopping with Kiyoko. Their high-summer afternoon at the beach, Asahi in a slim new wetsuit, Daichi with his battle scars on proud display. 

The night they spend under the festival lights, when Nishinoya clasps their hand and calls them _pretty_ in a voice all hushed and heavy with wonder.

Suga holds their hand too, when they need it. And Daichi, and Kiyoko.

It’s a heady thing, how little this surprises them.

No, the real surprise is when they don’t need them at all.

When Asahi tells their mother who they are, it’s just the two of them in the kitchen. The courage comes anyway, and pays dividends--she holds them, even as dinner burns, tells them that they’re _hers_ and that’s what matters. When they go out on their own, done up every day like some new permutation of themself, the well-being of it is strange, still uncharted water.

The real surprise is that every day, no matter where and who with _\--every day,_ Asahi comes just a little bit closer to fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi!!!!! thank you for reading this!!! i had so so so much fun writing it and i've been just giddy to see how people have been enjoying it this past week! what do you think?
> 
> it was so hard for me to write the ending of this fic because i loved it so much and i didn't want it to end!!! but here it is, and i hope i've done some justice to my vision of it. i hope i've done asahi justice, they deserve the world!
> 
> now, i'll tell you that you have not seen the last of this everyone-is-trans verse from me, FAR from it. and i'll also tell you to come chat with me on [twitter (18+)](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you like, since i'd love to have more hq friends!

**Author's Note:**

> they are beauty they are grace they will hit a service ace!
> 
> listen, i know this is unbelievably self-indulgent and the five-times format is terribly old-fashioned, so i'm really grateful to those of you who've gotten this far. do let me know what you thought of this, please!
> 
> also--come hang out with me on [twitter (18+)](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles)if you like, i'm new to the fandom and i really need more hq friends!
> 
> have a lovely day!


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